To give all we are to him and be guided by his wisdom.
As the gods will it…”
The idea of trying to sneak in there with all those brainwashed acolytes makes me shiver.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“I say we go in,” Alastor says.
“How? We don’t have any idea of the layout; there might not even be another way in except for the front entrance.”
“Yes,” Alastor says slowly. “And that’s the one I think we should use.”
“You think they’re in so deep a trance they won’t notice us?” Eryx asks doubtfully.
“They won’t if I help keep them in that state,” Leon says.
My eyebrows shoot up, understanding dawning. “Dream magic can keep them from waking up from the trance?”
“Yes. You heard Esther—they drug these kids up to their eyeballs with that opios stuff,” Leon says. “I can’t send people who are fully awake to sleep, but Icancontrol people who are mostly there already.”
We look the part in our cleric robes. As long as everyone is too far under to question why we’re not taking part in the ritual, I can see us passing by without issue. I look at the doors to the sanctuary. The codex is so close I can feel it—just beyond that entrance.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
We gather together outside the doors. The chanting is close now; the sound thrums in my chest. Leon reaches for the handle and closes his eyes.
“There’s hundreds of them,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’ll only be able to help a little. We need to be slow and quiet. No sudden movements or noises that could break the spell.”
We nod, and then he twists the handle and eases the door open, inch by inch.
A wave of voices washes over us, reminding me of the drone of an insect colony. There’s a strong smell too, the waft of something pungent and earthy. Leon notices me inhaling.
“We should be alright for a few minutes, but don’t breathe in too deeply,” he suggests.
One by one, we slip inside. I see them at last—rows and rows of yellow-clad acolytes, kneeling and staring straight ahead toward a tapestry of Ethira fixed at the other end of the hall. In each aisle, bowls of incense burn, the smoke drifting over the children.
And theyarechildren. The oldest ones, maybe age sixteen, are at the back. But the acolytes’ heights get shorter and shorter further up. Right at the front, I spot some heartbreakingly small figures.
Leon signals to me to start moving, and we creep beyond the first row of acolytes. I risk peering into their faces. Their eyes are wide open, but unseeing, and their lips move in perfect unison.
“…As the gods will it…”they chant, over and over, interspersed with affirmations about the Temple and their sacred duty.
Blood rushes in my ears and my heart beats so fast I’m sure they must hear it, but as we move down the left-hand aisle, no one raises the alarm. No heads turn in our direction. Leon’s magic must be working.
I’m concentrating so hard on watching them that I miss the uneven flagstone by my feet. I trip, and for a single, terrifying moment think I’m going to fall. Then Leon grabs me, strong arms steadying my clumsy body.
Eryx beckons us toward where Alastor is already standing beside a door off the hall. I move as quickly as I dare, eager to escape the sedated acolytes.
But once we pass through the door, it’s clear to us this can’t be the study the senior cleric described. It looks more like a healer’s room, with trolleys of glass bottles and metal instruments. There’s a strange metallic smell in the air, and four marble slabs dominate the room, each big enough for a large dog to lie on.
Or a child.
The slab at the far end of the room is smeared with blood. I take a closer look at the instruments on the nearest trolley.
“Come on, let’s go, there must be another room,” I choke out, desperate to get away as soon as I realize where we’re standing.
“What is this place?” Alastor whispers.
